


Dominance

by tastewithouttalent



Category: Soul Eater, Soul Eater Not!
Genre: Established Relationship, Light Dom/sub, M/M, No Plot/Plotless, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-21
Updated: 2014-04-21
Packaged: 2018-01-19 09:49:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1464913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tastewithouttalent/pseuds/tastewithouttalent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Clay is broader and somewhat denser than his meister, but he rocks backwards instinctively as Akane surges forward, backing up as Akane pushes so he half falls against the door at his back." Clay is sloppy with his tie and it gives Akane ideas.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dominance

Akane gives himself credit for being very patient; he walks exactly as fast as usual through the streets of Death City on his way back to the apartment he shares with Clay, carefully  _not_  going any faster than usual to get them home a few seconds quicker. Clay follows just at his heels, totally innocent of what is running through Akane’s head, what has  _been_  running through his head for the last few hours of class. It’s the fault of the weapon’s tie, really; Clay left it loose after they changed back from their gym uniforms. This is not all that shocking -- the weapon generally has his tie right at the edge of sloppily undone -- and to Clay the difference between a half inch and a inch of gap between the dark fabric and his opened collar is meaningless, but to Akane it’s crucial. It’s been distracting him all day, through class and down the hallways of the Academy and across the intersections of alleyways with streets, until he couldn’t maintain his side of a conversation if his life depended on it.

Luckily Clay had something of an interlude during one of his early-morning gaps between classes, and he’s happy to give Akane back the entire story in rambling detail as they walk, so he’s not tuning in to the meister’s unusual silence. He’s still in the midst of his analysis of the conversation as they come up the stairs to their second-story apartment, gesturing with his hands to illustrate so Akane moves to unlock the door himself.

“I really think she likes me, Akane. Like,  _likes_  me likes me. I mean she knows you’re my meister and I wasn’t trying to lead her on or anything, but she was  _really_  friendly. You know?”

“Mm.” Akane leads the way into the apartment and Clay trails him, pausing to shut the door behind him. Akane waits to turn until the door clicks into place; then he twists sharply on his heel, while Clay is still mid-sentence.

“Not that you have anything to worry about, I think you’re still the class --” The blond’s words cut off sharply, his voice stopped by surprise as Akane takes a step to cover the distance between them and wraps his fingers into a fist around the other boy’s tie. Clay is broader and somewhat denser than his meister, but he rocks backwards instinctively as Akane surges forward, backing up as Akane pushes so he half falls against the door at his back.

“Akane?” Clay’s eyes are wide with surprise, lips parted in confusion. He stares at the meister’s face, and when he smiles it has the tentative care of alarm. “Are you jealous?”

Akane laughs so far back in his throat it sounds more like a cough than amusement. “No.”

“You don’t need to be,” Clay says carefully, still eyeing Akane like he’s not sure his meister is in his right mind.

“I’m not jealous.” The words come out cool and steady and Clay’s face twists into confusion.

“If you’re not jealous than what--”

Akane shoves his arm into Clay’s chest. There’s nowhere for the weapon to go with the door at his back, so he doesn’t  _move_ , just flinches at the pressure and huffs a shocked breath at the impact.

“Don’t make assumptions, Clay.” Akane leans in until he can breathe in the warmth radiating off the weapon’s skin. Clay stutters on his inhale and Akane can feel him relax against the door at his back. “Your safeword is ‘meister.’ Understood?”

Clay goes very still for a breath. Akane can almost hear the understanding clicking into place in his brain, can almost see the weapon’s heartrate speed in his throat even before the blond takes a sharp breath and goes deliberately relaxed against the support at his back.

“Understood.” He tips his head sideways, offering the skin exposed by his loose collar for Akane’s mouth, but Akane pulls down on the tie instead, hard, until Clay takes the silent order and slides down the wall. Akane’s standing too close to him; the weapon has to shift to fit his knees between the other boy’s legs, and their clothes catch on each other as the blond goes, but Akane doesn’t move away, just tips his chin so he can watch Clay’s progress down his body. Clay maintains eye contact without being told, fingers trailing down against Akane’s body to steady himself as he goes until his knees are on the floor and his mouth is level with the top of Akane’s slacks.

Akane lets himself smile and tugs at the weapon’s tie to pull it sideways so he can curl his fingers in against Clay’s scalp without letting go of his hold on the fabric. Clay tips his head sideways and shivers in pleasure at the touch of fingers in his hair; his fingers come down farther over Akane’s thighs before reversing direction and dragging up until he can curl his fingers around the meister’s hips. The slow slide of Clay’s touch against him, even through the intermediary of cloth, sends heat flickering under Akane’s skin, and when the weapon licks his lip flash-quick Akane starts to go hard without even thinking about what Clay could  _do_  with his mouth where it is.

“Akane,” Clay says, his voice drawing taut in the back of his throat. He hooks a finger over the edge of Akane’s slacks, slides an inch sideways; the touch isn’t suggestive on its own, but the movement makes it clearly a question. Akane doesn’t answer aloud, but he doesn’t move to stop Clay, and when he presses his fingers a little harder against Clay’s blond hair the weapon’s mouth draws into a lopsided smile and he brings his hand to the buckle of the meister’s belt. He tries it blind for a minute, fumbling with the metal and leather without looking, but then his smile cracks into self-aware laughter and he looks down, drawing the tie tight under his chin as he does so. Akane can see the flutter of yellow eyelashes at the edge of Clay’s profile, the flash of white teeth as the weapon absently bites his lip in concentration. The angle at which the weapon is pulling at his belt feels odd, out instead of up as when Akane handles it himself, but the difference just speeds the response of his heartrate so by the time Clay gets his slacks open he’s almost fully hard.

The weapon looks up through his lashes, and Akane isn’t entirely sure Clay  _intends_  for it to come off as sultry, but it does regardless of intention. His lips are parted and he’s breathing hard, Akane can feel the heat of his exhales straight through the thin fabric of his boxers, and when the weapon licks his lip again Akane flinches in response even before Clay speaks.

“Do you want --” the blond starts, his fingers pulling at the elastic of the meister’s boxers even before Akane gives a response. Akane twists at the tie again, hard enough to draw Clay slightly to the side, but Clay just offers a startled laugh low in his throat, and his fingers are reaching for sensitive skin even before Akane can say, “Yes,” and reach out with his free hand to brace himself on the door.

He keeps looking down, although Clay’s attention has dropped again to the task in front of him. The tie is twisted up behind the weapon’s head, drawing the white collar of Clay’s shirt tighter against his throat from the odd angle and tracing a dark path through the other boy’s hair, but Clay appears entirely unconcerned with the makeshift leash. He pushes Akane’s clothes down until they slide free to puddle around the meister’s ankles and he can bring his mouth in and draw his lips gently against Akane’s length.

Akane’s expecting it, and he’s watching Clay’s approach, but in spite of or maybe because of that he still jerks in response at the contact. The weapon glances up at the reflexive shift of Akane’s hips, his mouth curving in a wide smile before his eyelashes fall again and he comes back in to lick against the head of the meister’s cock. Akane shuts his mouth hard on the pleased whimper that tries to spill from his throat, which just makes it sound like a half-swallowed moan, and Clay chuckles before he reaches out to fit his thumbs against Akane’s hipbones. It’s enough of a warning so Akane can lock his arm out against the door and set his fingers in a tighter hold around Clay’s tie before the weapon comes back in, tipping his head up so he can keep his eyes on Akane’s face as his mouth slowly slides down over his cock.

A laugh bubbles up Akane’s throat as he watches, and he forces the sound to go teasing instead of sultry when he speaks. “You put on a good performance, Clay.”

“Mm.” Clay closes his lips against the meister so when he hums in agreement the vibration goes straight to Akane’s spine. He pulls back for a moment, lips damp with saliva, and smirks. “You seem to enjoy watching.”

“I  _do_.” Akane drags his fingers through Clay’s hair, hard, and Clay rocks into the touch, lets the meister push his head off-center while he laughs. “Keep going.”

Clay tips his head, smile still lurking around his mouth so he has to pause to compose himself before he comes back in to take Akane past his lips and over his tongue. His mouth is warm and wet, and if he’s not sucking properly he  _is_  sliding his tongue up and against Akane’s cock until the meister isn’t sure  _what_  he’s doing, exactly, just that there is motion and friction and it’s difficult to maintain the cool distance in his expression. He manages to keep his throat under control, at least, but he’s pretty sure his eyes are going hot from the way Clay’s expression is flickering with responsive sparks. The blond’s hair is inordinately soft under his fingertips, and every time Akane pushes, even inadvertently, Clay shifts his head in response, capitulating instantly to the meister’s silent direction. When Akane slides his fingers around to the back of the weapon’s head Clay comes in farther even before he’s pressed at all, anticipating the action, and Akane’s mouth gets away from him, pours a moan out into the air so Clay blinks up at him, eyes sparkling with pleasure although his mouth is too full to manage a smile.

Akane takes a breath and works his fingers into a handful of Clay’s short hair so he can make a fist to hold to weapon’s head. Clay tips his head back into the touch without pulling free; Akane hits the roof of his mouth and groans at the pressure, fighting back the instinctive urge to thrust forward only by exerting all of his self-control for a moment. Then he’s got ahold of the blond’s hair, and Clay is still staring up at him with his mouth obediently still, and when Akane pushes in Clay lets him control the weapon’s movements, not even anticipating now, just going passively where Akane pushes him. It’s thrilling in a totally different way; the unpredicted movements of Clay’s mouth are more physically satisfying than this slow, steady rhythm, but Clay’s eyes are wide and calm with obedience, and the slow shift of his eyelashes when he blinks makes Akane shudder as much or more than the sensation itself. The meister takes a breath, shuts his eyes to steady himself, and starts speaking before he looks again, careful to keep his voice level.

“I’m not going to come in your mouth,” he says, and Clay whines around his cock like he’s being deprived of a treat. That startles a laugh out of Akane; he has to bring his gaze up to fix on the wall for a moment before he can trust himself to keep speaking, but he keeps leading the movement of Clay’s mouth without a break in the rhythm. He’s distantly proud of that, though it doesn’t touch the cool of his words when he gets himself to talk again. “I’m going to tell you what’s going to happen. Listen carefully.”

Clay makes a sound that is probably supposed to be affirmative. Akane takes it as such, anyway, keeps talking without looking down. “I’m going to let you go and you’re going to go into the other room, find the lube, and bring it back out to me.” He takes another breath, waits a minute until he can speak between the thudding of his heart. “Then I’m going to fuck you over the back of the couch and --”

Clay makes a garbled noise again, loud enough that it interrupts Akane’s train of thought. The meister hisses and pushes hard enough that he slides deeper into Clay’s mouth than he intends. The weapon chokes and his fingers at Akane’s hips go desperately tense. Akane doesn’t release his hold or let any of the tension fade out of his limbs, but he swallows and asks, “Safeword?”

Clay’s eyes are shut and his forehead is creased in pain, but he shakes his head without moving so his mouth slides friction against Akane’s cock. The movement is entirely clear even with the odd angle Akane’s watching him from. The meister’s eyebrows go up, surprised in spite of himself; after a breath he tips his chin and says, “Okay,” and pulls Clay in farther by his hold on the weapon’s hair. He can feel himself hit the back of the weapon’s mouth, a moment of resistance before Clay gets his head back to let Akane’s length down his throat. Akane’s the one who makes a sound this time, a hiss of reaction to the feel of Clay trying to breathe around him, and he’s not sure if he wants to jerk back from the excess of sensation or tip the blond’s head back and just thrust forward until it swamps him.

He does neither, carefully pulls Clay back off him -- the blond’s grip loosens as he regains use of his airway but Akane keeps going until his mouth is entirely free. His length and Clay’s lips are both damp, the weapon’s mouth still open in expectation or delayed reaction, Akane’s not sure which, and it’s hard to keep his thoughts straight. He takes a breath and levels his voice off. “What did I say, Clay?”

Clay’s eyes are wide and stunned and he looks like he can’t remember how to work his mouth; Akane watches his throat work, his tongue shift as he starts to speak before he remembers to close his mouth. He isn’t blinking and he isn’t looking away from Akane’s gaze, and his eyes don’t cool even when he does start to talk, his voice hoarse and breathy so Akane can  _hear_  how fast his heart is racing.

“You said...you said I’m going to go get you the lube, after you let me go, and I’ll bring it back in here and you’re going to fuck me over the back of the couch.” The order is garbled and Clay’s voice goes low on the last phrase, dark and sticky in his throat, but it serves the purpose of reminding Akane of his train of thought.

“Yes,” Akane purrs, letting his hold on Clay’s hair go gentle so he can stroke his fingers through the blond strands. Clay’s eyes shut and he tips his head under the contact, lips parting as he sighs. “Yes. I’m going to strip you down and bend you over the back of the couch and fuck you, and you’re not going to come until  _after_. Understand? You’re not going to touch yourself, I’m not going to touch you, you’re not even going to grind against the couch until I’m done.” Clay swallows and jerks his head in something that might be a nod. Akane drags his fingers around the curve of his ear, across the skin just behind it. “ _Then_  I’ll jerk you off myself.”

Clay smiles, the expression as much an answer as words when combined with the way Akane can feel him shiver under his fingers. The meister drops his hold on Clay’s tie without offering any warning, taps his jawline with his fingers. It’s too hard to be a pat but too gentle to be a slap; either way, Clay gets the message, is stumbling to his feet even before Akane says “ _Go_ ” with all the meister-Resonance he can put in his voice.

Akane moves as quick as Clay does; the weapon is still scrambling towards the bedroom as the meister starts to kick his shoes free, and he drops his coat to the floor as his feet come free of the clothes pooled around his feet. The tie is as quick, but then the buttons on his shirt slow him down so he’s only halfway down the front by the time Clay comes back with the bottle of lube in his hand and his eyes blue and liquid with want.

“Wait there,” Akane says, jerking his chin towards the couch as he continues to pull his buttons free. Clay obeys, though he turns back around to watch Akane shed the last of his clothing. The meister can’t complain, not when Clay’s eyelashes flutter as his shirt comes open and not when the weapon’s eyes drop down to stall on his cock as Akane drops the shirt and come forward. Clay doesn’t look back up until the other boy reaches out for the loose collar of his shirt to run his fingertip down the V-shape formed by the open fabric.  _Then_  his gaze jumps back up, his mouth comes open, and he whines, “ _Akane_ ” even before the meister has really done anything at all.

Akane doesn’t answer, just drags his fingers down as far as they’ll go while he reaches out with his other hand to pull Clay’s buttons open. The weapon’s tie is twisted up over his shoulder and out of the way, so Akane’s touch can drop downward by inches as he gets the weapon’s shirt undone. Clay doesn’t move or protest, though Akane can feel him shudder every time another button comes free and can hear his breathing going too-fast into the meister’s hair. Akane gives up on the slow process when he gets to Clay’s slacks, just tugs the shirt free entirely and undoes the last two buttons quick with the assistance of both hands. Clay lets him pull his tie wholly free of the collar, shifts his arms back so Akane can slide the opened shirt off his shoulders. The weapon’s free hand comes up to touch at the remaining fabric, the motion questioning even if he’s not saying anything, and Akane answers without looking away from his hold on Clay’s belt.

“The tie stays.”

Clay drops his hand and takes an audible breath; when he lets it out the exhale goes shaky and sighing even before Akane gets Clay’s pants open and pulls slacks and boxers free from the weapon’s length. He doesn’t deliberately touch Clay, just pushes his clothes free, but the weapon hisses in reaction just from the tug of elastic and friction against his length. Akane drops to a knee to work at Clay’s shoe; the weapon reaches out to balance himself with fingertips on Akane’s shoulder, and the meister reciprocates the contact by leaning in so his forehead bumps against the blond’s hip and he can exhale warm over Clay’s thigh. This does little for Clay’s balance and less for the rhythm of his breathing, but the catch in his breath sounds like a laugh and Akane grins from under the cover of his hair, where Clay can’t see him.

Getting Clay’s shoes off is relatively easy between the two of them, even when Clay starts to lose his balance and has to catch himself on the back of the couch. It just means that by the time Akane touches Clay’s ankle to get the weapon to step free the blond is smiling warm with amusement and his eyes are soft with affection as well as desire as Akane gets back to his feet. The weapon’s expression doesn’t flicker even when Akane wordlessly holds out his hand -- he hands over the bottle and turns without needing to be told. Akane touches his shoulder, traces the curve of muscle into Clay’s back, and pushes gently to prompt the other boy to lean over.

“Brace yourself on the couch,” he says. It’s not particularly loud, and he’s not using his meister-voice at all, but Clay still jumps to obey, bending over so quickly for a minute Akane thinks he’s falling. Then he’s where the meister wants him, shoulders flexing as he supports his weight and the arch of his back speaking to his willingness.

Akane gets the bottle open one-handed, slicks his fingers quick; he’s had enough experience with this to be graceful with it so he doesn’t keep Clay (and himself) waiting any more than necessary. Clay’s experience comes in useful too; he’s ready when Akane slides his slippery fingers down the curve of his ass, relaxing into the meister’s touch and leaning back for more. Akane tries one finger and Clay sighs in pleasure, rocks back and whines far in his throat, so the meister slides a second in alongside the first without waiting. It’s a much tighter fit, this time, but Clay’s exhale sounds pleased and he hasn’t shifted his position. Akane’s hand is still occupied with the bottle of lube, but he reaches up anyway to hook his pinky finger around the length of Clay’s tie so he can pull the dark fabric along the weapon’s back. Clay drops his head forward, ostentatiously obedient before Akane has offered any direction, and Akane smooths the fabric down with his wrist while he starts slowly thrusting with the fingers inside the weapon.

“Are you keeping track of where we are?” he says. His face is anything but calm -- he can feel his eyes tracking heat along the curve of Clay’s back and his breath coming damp with desire in his throat -- but Clay can’t see his face, and his voice is cool and distant in spite of the quiver running through the rest of his body. “What comes next, Clay, tell me.”

Clay opens his mouth to talk -- Akane can hear him take a preparatory breath -- and the meister spreads his fingers a little wider, pushes his fingertips against sensitive nerve endings so the weapon’s breath dissolves in an appreciative groan. Akane is grinning when Clay manages to pull coherency back around him. “You -- you’re going to fuck me, just like this, over the back of the couch.” The weapon takes a stuttering inhale, Akane can hear it catch in his throat, and when the meister pushes forward with his fingers Clay rocks back to meet him. “Please, Akane, I’m ready, I’m fine, just --”

“Soon,” Akane cuts him off. “And then what?”

Clay swallows and Akane can  _hear_  the scramble of half-lost thoughts through his head. “And...and I’m not going to touch myself. You’re going to get me off after, only after you’re finished, and I’m going to wait until then.”

“Good.” Akane slides his fingers free fast -- Clay was right, honestly, he  _is_  ready -- and steps back far enough that he can manage the lube and his own cock without brushing against Clay at all. The blond whimpers, starts to look over his shoulder in search of more contact, and Akane snaps, “Stay where you are.” Clay turns back around instantly, though he has to drop his head again, and he’s breathing hard enough that when Akane sets the bottle aside and steps back in the weapon jumps at the touch of the other boy’s fingers on his hip.

Akane thinks briefly about teasing Clay, but the temptation is too much for him to resist on his own behalf. Clay’s mouth was almost enough on its own, the brief delay to get the weapon stripped and ready notwithstanding, and even the control he’s drawing around himself as a facade only goes so far. Instead he curls his fingers gently around the edge of the blond’s hips and lines himself up, and while Clay is still drawing in a breath in anticipation Akane fixes his gaze on the sweep of the weapon’s spine and slides himself forward and inside.

Clay arches harder, as Akane knew he would, and the meister can see the increase in the tension of his grip in the way his shoulderblades jerk under his skin. The weapon’s head comes up, so when he groans “ _Akane_ ,” the name is pulled strained and hot over the tension in his throat, and Akane breaks for a moment and groans as he pushes all the way forward and Clay draws tight around him. Akane goes still, fingers gripping a little too tight against Clay’s skin, so the only motion in him is secondhand from the tremble of Clay’s back and the thrumming hold of his arms.

Then Clay takes a breath, and rocks back in another unvoiced plea, and that aligns perfectly with Akane’s plan so he capitulates, pulls back and thrusts forward, slow still but faster than the first. Clay’s head goes back down, his shoulders shift as he locks his elbows out, and when Akane comes in harder the weapon rocks forward slightly without resistance.

Akane lets go of Clay with one hand, reaches up to grab at the trailing end of fabric across the weapon’s back, and tugs gently, just enough for Clay to know he’s holding the end of the tie.

“Clay,” he says, the cool in his voice melting into heat now. “Talk.”

Clay obeys, instantly and without asking for details, just opens his mouth and starts babbling. Akane imagines he can feel the shift of the weapon’s throat as he gasps and pants through his hold on the fabric; he can certainly hear every breath Clay takes, the blond keeps pausing in the middle of sentences to choke an inhale. “Akane  _fuck_  you feel good, I want you to -- to touch me so  _badly_.”

“Don’t,” Akane warns, and Clay laughs, short and amused, shaking his head in agreement.

“No, no I won’t, I want you to touch me but you...this feels amazing,  _you’re_  amazing,  _fuck_  me.”

Akane has to laugh, although it comes out somewhat shattered around his inhales. “Working on it.”

Clay coughs a laugh. “Yeah, yeah you are, god Akane you’re wonderful, I’m so...so  _glad_  you’re my meister.”

Akane wraps the tie into a loop around his hand, tugs gently. “You’re my weapon.” The possessive goes hot on his tongue and Clay shudders, tips his head back in response to the pull at his throat.

“Yeah, yes, I’m your weapon, I’m  _yours_ , don’t stop, Ak _ane_ , fuck, I…” He takes a shivering breath. Heat’s licking up Akane’s spine, melting into a pool of tight-wound heat low in his stomach. He can feel his thrusts going arrhythmic and desperate, the tension on the tie in his hand going a little tighter than he intends, but Clay just rocks forward with the force of his movements and gasps and shudders, his fingers flexing desperately on the back of the couch. “Please tell me you’re close, I don’t know how much longer I can wait.”

“Just --” Akane starts to say, but then Clay shifts his weight, rocks himself back just in advance of the meister’s forward movement, and the tension under Akane’s skin snaps before he’s quite expecting it. He jerks back on the tie, hard enough that the fabric slides an inch free from the sloppy knot, and opens his mouth to say something, but his body flushes hot and pulses with pleasure, and all he gets out is “ _Clay_ ,” as he comes.

Clay is panting as Akane comes back down, spine still arched and shoulders tight with visible want. Akane pulls sharply on the tie so it comes entirely loose, and while Clay is gasping at the slide of fabric over his neck Akane slides himself free and reaches to twist the weapon around by his hip.

“Come  _here_ ,” he hisses. Clay unbends his arms, turns as quick as Akane reaches for him, and his arms are up around the meister’s shoulders as Akane is getting his fingers wrapped around the blond’s cock. Clay shudders and rocks up into the contact and they both nearly fall; Akane laughs, bright with the warm afterglow of orgasm, and steps forward to coax Clay backward.

“Against the couch,” he says, and Clay stumbles backward until he can half-lean and half-sit against the furniture to lessen the danger of them both falling. It’s for the best; he starts shaking as soon as Akane starts stroking him properly, his breath scattering into needy whines and his legs trembling so badly Akane can feel the tremors without even looking. Clay’s eyes are skimming against Akane’s face, his mouth falling open as he gasps for air, and Akane smiles and leans in to kiss him just as the weapon’s inhales stall out with the inevitability of climax. Clay sighs into Akane’s mouth as he comes, the sound very close to a delighted laugh, and Akane smiles without pulling away until the blond’s pleased shivers have subsided. Even then he doesn’t go far, just frees his grip so he can replace his hand on Clay’s hip, facing the weapon this time.

Clay smiles up at him, eyes soft and hazy with contentment, and his fingers stroke against the back of Akane’s neck and through the ends of his hair.

“You like me in a tie?” he half-asks, half-observes.

“Mm.” Akane shrugs. “It was loose all day. Extremely distracting for me, you should think of my suffering.”

“Yeah.” Clay’s fingers draw across his shoulders and the blond gives the meister a smile that has no such consideration. “You’ve definitely convinced me to never do so again.” His eyes are sparkling, his teeth scraping over his lower lip, and Akane laughs before he leans in.

“I should hope so,” he says, letting the words go warm and suggestive on his tongue, and Clay starts laughing before the meister’s mouth cuts him off.


End file.
